Summary: Living in his father's halls in Mirkwood, young Legolas has never seen dwarves before and is understandably quite intrigued when thirteen of them are captured and brought into his father's dungeons as prisoners. I am taking many, many liberties with Legolas's age, so do note that Legolas by all liklihood is probably much, MUCH older than this at this time. Takes place during the time of The Hobbit with one of the characters from LotR.

A/N: This is my first Lord of the Rings story. For those waiting for other updates, well, I am most sorry, but I was bitten by a plot.

I am taking liberties with Legolas's age. A lot of liberties. In all reality he's probably thousands of years older. Except I justified it in my mind by saying, "well, he has to have been a kid at some point, and maybe elf aging is different than human", but even then it doesn't work out. So we'll just say that this is AU for no other reason than Legolas's age. Sorry, Legolas.

"Hear all ye Elves! Let none say again that Dwarves are grasping and ungracious!"

—Galadriel, "The Fellowship of the Ring."

Thorin slammed his head against the wall. Several more weeks in these accursed elf-halls, and he was going to be driven insane by boredom. Their burglar had come to talk to him, but still, Bilbo could not be everywhere at once, and it was likely that he was either eating or talking with one of the other dwarves.

There was a rap at the door. Thorin didn't know why they bothered knocking.

"Hello," a young voice said, and a head stuck in. "I can come in, right?"

I'm not in a position to chase you out, elf.

"Yes," Thorin granted.

The little elf strode in and pushed a tray of food over. "You're a dwarf?" he asked while Thorin proceeded to devour the food.

Thorin nodded.

"I'm Legolas, Thranduil's son."

After Legolas had informed Thorin of his name and heritage there seemed to be little more for the young one to do, and Thorin wished he'd leave. Legolas didn't appear to want to, and sat calmly, observing.

"I've never seen a dwarf before."

"And I never an elf-child. I thought you sprang forth fully grown," Thorin said sarcastically.

The elf-child didn't seem to understand. "Well, we don't."

"I know that, it—never mind." Thorin finished eating and pushed the tray back over to Legolas. "You ought to leave now, elf. Not only do I not wish you here, but does your father know you have come down here?"

Legolas's silence was all Thorin needed. "I thought as much. No matter how intriguing we dwarves may be, you had best leave. And don't think about talking to the others! They may not be as kind as I." He bit the inside of his cheek. He wasn't supposed to know that Thranduil, the elf-king, had captured his friends. Luckily Legolas did not seem to know that Thorin wasn't meant to know that, and Thorin relaxed slightly.

"I don't think any of you are particularly kind," Legolas pointed out. "Otherwise why would you come into our forest without leave? What would bring dwarves into Mirkwood?"

Thorin glared at him. "I shall not say. My business is my own. Is this some new trick of the elf-king's, using children to get me to loosen my tongue?"

"Oh, no," Legolas reassured him. "I came here of my own volition. And I shall leave, also of my own volition."

"Excellent, now leave."

"But I don't want to yet. You're interesting to talk to."

Curses!

"Legolas, go. And don't speak to my friends." Thorin was worried, some of the younger ones, like Fili or Kili would be very likely to accidentally let slip some information to Legolas. It was less for Legolas's safety and more for their own. Fili, Kili, all the rest, don't trust Legolas! No matter how much you want to, it will bring nothing but ruin!

"I already have," Legolas informed him. "They did not wish to speak to me." He laughed, a bright clear sound. "I have never had to dodge as many obstacles that they threw at me before. Luckily they did not count on the agility of elves."

Thorin reached forward and touched Legolas's cheek where he could see the beginning of a purple stain marring the pale skin. "Agility of elves?"

Legolas stayed still, not wincing at the pressure on his wound, and it was Thorin to immediately recoil from him. Curse young elves, trying to catch you off guard.

"I didn't expect that one, actually," Legolas said calmly, "it was the first one of you that I visited, Gloin I think his name was. Afterwards I was more on my guard."

"And shall we suffer for you not being on your guard? After your father sees this, we will take the blame."

"And do you not deserve the blame? But never fear, I shall pass it off as a mishap in training." Legolas looked down. "I have them often enough, I fear. I am not skilled with a sword."

"Well," Thorin said, eager for the conversation to end, "perhaps you should try archery."

Legolas smiled. "I do wish to. Father says that I may cease these accursed sword practices and develop my skill with the bow more fluently. Apparently I am quite natural." The little elf rose. "And now, I wish you goodbye. May I talk to you some time later? You are quite intriguing. I did not know that dwarves were so."

"You think us fools?"

The elf shifted from foot to foot. "Typically, yes. I wished to see if this were so for myself."

"And your opinion now?"

"You are not a fool, at least. Gloin, now—"

Thorin laughed, seeing Legolas poke at his bruise mournfully. "Not so foolish if he can catch an elf off his guard, hmm, Legolas?"

"No—" Legolas sighed. "I suppose not. Namarie*, Thorin!"

*Namarie is "farewell" in Elvish.

A/N: I hope I wrote Legolas well, though I'm very concerned about Thorin's personality. He's probably much different than I wrote him—but alas, what will be will be.

Review, please!